


Unintended Encounter

by ShadesOfGrey



Category: Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 15:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21102053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadesOfGrey/pseuds/ShadesOfGrey
Summary: A child happens to find themselves upon a strange twist of fate in a familiar area of forest.





	Unintended Encounter

I made a mistake. I know I did - it’s not going to leave me alone, constantly drilling in my head, a voice hissing and biting at me, but it’s not going to stop me. I already started running; I wasn’t going to stop now. I threw a bit of a mini-tantrum before sneaking off, so it’s likely an authoritative figure will come after me and drag me down. I don’t really care.

I vanish into a grand, wondrous forest, the brutal atmosphere trapped inside burning against my skin. It’s filled to the brim with staggering trees, tottering so high they seemed to touch the stars. I slow my pace, breathing so hard my lungs are basically insensible. My hands subconsciously shove away branches and leaves, droplets of water eagerly soaring in the air. I follow a river along the grotto; the water has a thin layer of ice sleeping atop, tiny fishes inside squirming around as they dart to-and-from. It twirls around tree roots and leads me toward a lake.

This lake’s a special one, or at least, it is to me. The canopy parts here, pouring sunlight against the near-frozen lake. Shadows of fish and leaves and bits of sun dance together, happy and giddy, full of life - in reality, though, they were near dead. I wish I could be like them: blinded with joy, unbeknownst of their nearing asphyxiation.

Some of the leaves, however, are frozen on the banks of the river. They’re a dimmer color, a faint seaweed-green contrasting the grand emerald hugging the tree branches. They remind me of me and my family; differing their gold-blonde hair and bejeweled emerald eyes, mine are dim and lacking life. Bits of my hair has been ripped out from incidents beforehand - similarly, there are scars and wounds buried beneath my clothes. 

I decide I don’t really want to think about my dying appearance. 

I choose to climb up one of the trees bordering the water. It’s a little rough at first, but once I get a better grip at the hard bark, it’s a lot easier. As I somehow pull myself up, thoughts stir in my head. It’s nice to be alone out here, nice to properly deal with my thoughts. I’m all alone - at least, for now.

A cloud drifts across the sky, casting a dark shadow. I find my body tenses, and suddenly, memories I didn’t realize I had slam against me. I’m not exactly sure why the remembrance of why everyone hates me floods into my head, sharp as a spear; I recall thinking I wasn’t so different from any other being.

At the time, I hadn’t realized I was the only one who could see them - things that lurk in shadows, caliginous beings that were likely inner demons. They changed and shifted, flashing and becoming more or less visible varying on actions. When I pointed it out, or at least asked why it happened, people instantly started to revile me. I became an even more demonic monster than I already was.

I vividly remember how depressed I had been. I used to read lots of stolen fiction books, filled to the brim with imagination, story, and worlds I wanted to hide inside. I used to think I was in a Chosen One’s story - Trapped, hated from birth, cursed, only given a single, important mission. I’ll become stronger, better, the best ruler, fulfil a long-lost ancient prophecy, be cherished… loved… adored… I know how stupid I was, back then. How foolish I’d been.

I’m not entirely sure if I’m suddenly shivering because of the nearby breeze, or because of the flooding memory. The cloud drifts away, wavering in the sky, leaving me wishing for them to take me away. I finally grab onto my desired branch, hoisting myself into the air, away from the bad memory.

I don’t exactly want to stay in this world anymore, despite the “wondrous” and “luscious” life I have. Nobody wants me here, not even my blood family. In fact, my dad hates - no, just really dislikes - me enough that he’ll stick me with a caretaker. A simple caretaker, someone who’s barely holding onto their noble rank, replacing my motherly figure.

I should be more grateful - wow, incredible, someone really risked their honor and nobility just for me? Except, she hates me as much as I hate her, if not more. I still think she shouldn’t have treated me so poorly. I didn’t  _ need _ to be forced into a frame of mind where I can do absolutely nothing against her or anyone else; I didn’t  _ need _ to think the way they want me to be thinking. I don’t comprehend their trains of thought, their words, their speech and meaning and point in life, and truthfully, I hate this the most. I’m not them, so why are they forcing me to be?

It’s nice to be alone out here. Away from them, the screaming, the demands. I can kinda breathe. I can easily see that I am; my eyesight blurs a bit as I try to focus on my exhaled clouds, but I can see that they exist and they are mine. It makes me feel slightly better, even if my body’s still tensed up and I feel like I should be having an anxiety attack.

I shake my head, pressing myself hard against the tree, trying to clear my dismal mind. No. I came here to clear my head, not be further haunted. I sit there, quiet, as I listen to what’s around me: a group of Magi students, eagerly shouting in their native language, casting spells and twirling ice. I think today’s the day they’re supposed to practice producing a hailstorm. I’ve heard grand rumors about them: even more beautiful than the already-empyrean forest. It sounds like a lovely way to die.

By themselves, the grotto’s trees were a beaut. Outer leaves had the thinnest layers of ice, inners slightly damp with gentle dew. Once the sunlight stretched around, comforting the tree canopies, it allowed the understory to radiate a feeling of freshly heated glass, despite the fact it’s still cold. I’ll likely catch hypothermia staying here, nevertheless it’s worth it. 

I get to see the tiny icicles, little javelins scarcely grasping at the very edges of leaves, faint rainbows cast through. I get to see tiny fish, hiding under an easily-broken layer, barely alive - just like me.

It’s nice to think I’m not the only one.

My mind turns to my family, completely against my will. I could attempt anything for just the tiniest sliver of their approval, but there’s nothing I have anymore. Even if I proffered my soul, they would take it only to burn. They’re the embodiments of power and perfection, with their wide grins and never-broken joys, sweeping past the smallest and desperate. 

I can’t understand why nobody appreciates these tiny things, things not as negligible as they think. The same broad, “extraordinary”, magical ideas get dull and boring after constant repetition - with limits broken, there’s no creativity. What happened to caring about these minute things? Then again, they’ve learned time and time again how much more the majority matters. Maybe I’m just the immature one. I care for the species of flower and bee in a meadow over how large it is. 

Magic had always been a wondrous topic, even if it gradually leaned towards “broader” than “narrower”. It crafted beauty, allowed once-impossible feats, poked at layers of grace and precision, broke through barriers and restrictions. That’s the thing, though - _had_ _been_, _crafted, broke_ \- now, it’s become cursed as much as blessed. Happiness and joy that stem from it begins to fade. It becomes a part of everyday life, this introduction to a powerful element, the same way that technology had been.

I realize I’ve begun to nod off. I feel my body slightly jerking forwards, threatening to tilt off the branch. I wonder how I manage to have, with my insomnia and constantly-busy head. Maybe I could later mimic it - surely, when it mattered, I could finally sleep.

Then again, there was such a high chance of being struck with terrifying nightmares that I suddenly regretted my wish.

A voice pierces my ears. It’s familiar - sharp, icy, more so than glaciers, bringing a burning tundra down my back. I look down in its general direction.

My older sister’s staring back up, her eyes filled with fury and anger; enough of the rage to be almost glowing in the darkened forest floor. Her own shadow’s stirring, growling, staring at me as though it wanted to devour my soul.

“Nyx!” She repeats. I never did like the way she said my name, as though I was a puppy that kept running away. One she never wanted in the first place, but had to keep chasing, simply because her father pressured her. “Get  _ down _ from there! I don’t know  _ how _ you got up, but you need to get down. Now!”

I want to scream back my response, but I know I can’t. I never can. I could attempt, with all my might, but I don’t have the strength. I’m not like her or anyone else in my family, with a loud, booming voice, threatening and confident, strong and proud. I instead pathetically mutter, “No.” My voice is a wheeze, a gasp, painful against my dry throat.

“There’s people here! You’ll listen to me. Now.” This time, her voice is through gritted teeth, frustrated and unwilling to argue. Her words are lined with bitter daggers, coated in bronze rust.

“Go away, Haruka!” I feel my voice crack in the middle of my words, like I snapped a piece of glass in half. I find myself coughing for a short bit. It only hurts more. 

“ _ Excuse _ me?” She roars. 

Unlike mine, her responses are neat immediate. She doesn’t cycle the pain of reliving responses and conversations a thousand times. She doesn’t think about everything and everyone. 

“Fine. Go away,  _ Princess _ Haruka!” I attempt to spit. I hate her. She constantly reminds me of everything I am, everything I dislike. Even though Haruka’s my blood sister, she has to make a show of my titles. I’ve been stripped down of everything I once was;  _ she  _ wasn’t.

“Hmph. Not my fault if you kill yourself!” Haruka yells back. I may just be blessed by divine deities - she doesn’t shake the tree and wait for me to plummet through. I’d like to think she learned that it isn’t much fun dragging a beat-up, unconscious body back to the palace. “I’m coming back later to collect your corpse.”

I hear her stomping off. She doesn’t really want to control me up here. Why bother climbing up here if all she has to do is wait for me to fall off? I sit, shivering, listening as a sudden noise grows in my ear over the span of ten minutes. It’s a strange clicking, chattering - a hiss of sorts, frigid against my ears. I feel as though the sky collapsed onto my shoulders. There’s a nearing conversation, filled with words I don’t understand, humane sounds and vowels and noises.

I think I’ve been spotted. I hear someone shouting in panic. I glance down and realize one of the students started jutting a finger in my direction, trying to get the attention of his friends. I recognize them: Haski Academy students, likely transfers from the way they held both classic British clothing and school uniforms. If so, why can’t I understand their language?

I see another student who’s just like them, except not. I wouldn’t have noticed him if he hadn’t started shifting in the brush; he looks like he’s been dragged against his will through the forest, with messy hair and destroyed clothes, but doesn’t mind. I lean a bit, trying to figure out who he is, and nearly slip. My heart attempts to break through my chest.

Suddenly, I can’t breathe, nor focus. There’s something that slides across the ground, a strange shadow: it’s a distorted human’s silhouette, but with similar traits. It shifts and moves differently, making it difficult for me to find its owner, but I can’t bring myself to focus at it for long. It has eyes, clear eyes, white gaping holes in a black skull. The white runs down from it in a strange way, its dripping form changing depending on where it rest; trees, bush, branch, and so forth. It looks like it’s crying.

I maintain a stronger grip on the branch. I feel blood pounding in my head. Fear strikes me like lightning. I see monsters like those occasionally, but only in my nightmares. My true ones, digging into my sleep, forcing me into insomnia. Hate surges into my blood - why did I come out here? Why did I think I could be happy, even if just for a short bit of time? 

I want the hailstorm to come already, to rip life from me like it was paper. I want to die seeing the tiny crystals, floating in the clouds for a few moments, watching the fractures twist and turn, as they flash warnings before slamming down against the ground. They’ll be unstoppable weapons, tiny daggers, refusing to abide by the barriers of wind resistance.

I crawl against the branch. My existence is further noticed. The figure shrouded by darkness suddenly becomes clearer, and I hear his voice; “Stop moving! Whoever’s up there, you gotta stop!” It’s a fairly accented English, except, not British. Nor one of an ally’s I can recognize. I don’t know if I should trust myself or him.

My thoughts double and my stomach lurches. I refuse to give in and listen. He feels somewhat skeptical; after all, why should I trust him? He’ll hurt me like everyone else. I know it.

“You’re getting closer to a lake that’s frozen over! Whether or not it’s solid enough to hold your weight crashing down, it ain’t going to be painless! Give me a signal you can hear me?”

These extra sentences give me more to analyze. The voice is confident, hard, in-charge, but in a weird way, choked. I wonder if it belongs to one of the homesick students, sobbing about being snatched from their families to study a subject they hated with all their might. I wield no faith, no sureness, with this person.

“You’re going to get hurt up there. I just want to help you.” 

Why? Why not just leave me here? I’ll be okay, happy. I want to watch diamond-cut jewels, a delicate drizzle of frozen rain, descend like sparkling stars cascading in the sky. I suddenly can’t really talk. I attempt to, wanting to speak words of my mind, and end up only releasing muffled exhales. I feel the tree’s slight shake.

I stop trying to edge towards the middle of the branch, preferably where I can cross to something else, and look down. The group of students have taken their leave - this one, however, doesn’t. He’s looking back up, completely oblivious to the  _ thing _ clawing against my tree’s lower trunk. Is it a monster? A demon? A pet? All three? Suddenly, all my thoughts contrast, a faint ringing scratching the back of my eyes, and I wonder what would happen if I came down. Is this person really trying to help me?

“Are you okay?” He calls up. I shake my head, then realize how high I am. 

So, I try my best to snap off a nearby branch, dangling by my face; I wrap both of my arms around the thin wood, shift most of my body weight over, and snap it. It swings in my face with a horrible cracking noise in my ear, likely giving me a splinter or two. I don’t really care too much, though. At least I haven’t fallen all the way down and break much more than just one branch.

I suddenly wince and nearly throw myself off the branch without further assistance, realizing how delayed the pain really was - I know there’s a red mark across my chest and likely face. 

“I’ve seen you tossed down a stick. I’ll assume this is a yes, since ignoring usually means no. I’m gonna start climbing up to get you down, a’ite? Try not to fall off.”

Following the male’s voice, I hear what sounds like shuffling. I hear screeching, high-pitched and digging into my skull, threatening to slice my brain’s cerebral cortex in half. I hear the nearby Magi students screaming in agony, as though they too heard the horrible noise. There’s a nearby blast, cold wind rushing across the forest in a miniature shockwave, running footsteps, then all goes quiet. All I hear are annoyed leaves shaking in the air, scratching against tree bark, and the crisp, thin noises of anything moving hitting hard surface. I can’t see that figure anymore, and in that moment, I’m a bit afraid he’s dead.

Then, a silhouette appears at the other end of my branch. Startled, I move, not realizing the ground draws nearer and nearer until it’s almost too late. Whatever is on the other side is wearing dark black and heavy gray, with a face covered by a shroud of leaves. Abruptly, my body relaxes. I feel strangely calm in a sickening, nauseating way, my gut wrenching and threatening to force a vomit.

I’m no longer afraid of the creature. At least, not at the insane, heart-pounding way I first was. Now, I feel perfectly content with death, even if I won’t get to see the hailstorm. It’s not like I ever had a purpose in this world. Nobody likes me, not my family, not any of the nobles, not myself. 

As sunlight shines, I no longer suffer trying to see details of a silhouette. I see a much clearer human face, smiling a strange smile, shielding his eyes with a raised elbow.

“The branch’s too fragile for both of us to be all the way over there,” He remarks, eyes scanning me. He’s only maybe five, six feet away. His voice brings a chill through my spine; up close, where I could better hear him, I hear a strange tone under the layers of his voice. I wonder if I’m the only one who’s detected this, just as I’m the only one who can see the creatures. 

“I’m going to attempt to get as close as possible, but I’ll stay where it’s safer, alright, kid? I’ll hold out my hand; try to grab and lock onto it. It’s an easier route than anything else. I don’t know how much energy you have after being stuck up here.”

I nod, a bit too vigorously for my liking. A jolt rushes up my neck, and I feel as though my spine suddenly locked in place. I attempt to reach for the person’s hand; again, my thoughts contrast. I’m terrified he’ll just shove me off the branch and laugh. Why wouldn’t he? 

Then, our hands interlock. It’s strange. I don’t flinch at this interaction, not like I would with anyone else’s. I realize maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit of this person is in me: they feel familiar, close enough that I won’t freeze instantly or go into complete shutdown-mode.

The touch doesn’t instantaneously calm me, yet I don’t feel as stressed. I’m being nudged forward, carefully pulled along, as though the other person is a skilled sculptor meticulously painting a vase. His face has a stern, yellowish grin carved into it, with an empty, fake feel. 

I attempt to divert my eyes, but only further notice a nasty scar staggering down the side of his face. It doesn’t look like it hurts all too much. The figure sets a firmer grip on me, helps me sit properly, and I remember how high we are in the air. I’m trying to find any reason to simply fall out of the tree, hoping it would extinguish the chilled feeling in my bones, although instead I somehow lock gazes with him for a few heartbeats.

His black eyes look like they have an army within them. They’re sharp and fierce, holding a piercing gaze. I try not to retaliate, suddenly wanting to get away. I think he notices, because he then responds, “I think I’m not supposed to be here right now, but I think it’s a good thing I am.” He speaks with a warm laugh, one that has me try to smile. We both sit there, me trying to recollect his thoughts, him breathing in an… odd pattern. I find myself subconsciously following it. I only realize when I break it, my eye caught by something darting around unnaturally.

I shift away, trying to let go of his hand. The other being frowns, a little confused, or maybe concerned. A sparkle flickers across his eyes as he switches his focus.

He doesn’t let go of my hand; “Is there something wrong?” 

I can’t answer. I’m not sure why. My throat decides to close up like I’ve had an allergic reaction. I begin to hyperventilate, coughing, my watering eyes seeing something dart against the trees, hearing the screeching again. My free hand’s now digging against my neck, as though that helps. It’s impossible to do anything. I don’t understand.

“One… Two… Three…” The other figure begins to start counting, his voice soothing and gentle. 

It’s a strange kind of rigidness, as though I decided to fly in the sky and jump through the cloud, except the cloud’s not passable or fluffy as assumed. It’s hard and brittle. He’s trying hard to get me to refocus without further jerking my body in a certain position. His grip tightens ever-so-slightly.

Mine, however, loosens, despite me not having a very strong one in the first place. I hear another screech; on the fearful contrary, it’s freakish, this one. It’s not a very audible one, rather low yet still. I must’ve caught us both off-guard, as suddenly, this bullet-like noise slams through my head, and I pull myself backwards with too much force. My vision flashes a purplish-black, a horrible color of blood-red and shadow. He lets go.

Falling feels so dreamlike, and I’ve never really liked it. I close my eyes and don’t say a thing - no scream, no shout, nothing. I couldn’t if I tried. I can’t even grasp a deep breath. Sounds blur away. Air resistance kisses me goodbye. 

It’s difficult to handle the thought I slipped, this awful realization. I don’t really know why. It’s just… I don’t know. How did I consciously resist all of that help? Is this unintentional suicide? The impact slams against me, and I feel as though I might as well have jumped off a plane without a parachute. 

The ice shatters against my weight and acceleration, shards flying up, all of it defying gravity. It wasn’t so different as falling through glass. Ice and water dance in a graceful dance, a hailstorm partially melted through. Then, a hellish rain of it comes crashing back down. Immediately. 

I don’t feel the pain of my bones cracking, only hear the deafening crack. The water that engulfs me numbs  _ everything _ . I find that I’m falling through it lifelessly, burning lungs grasping for oxygen, trying to get rid of carbon dioxide, choking and coughing and unable to do much. I feel like maybe I’m a lone astronaut, my tassel cut, flailing and trying to grab at anything when there was nothing left.

A fish snatches past my face. I realize shortly thereafter it’s not a fish, but rather, a large, blurry figure. A shark? Were those possible here? An arm wraps around me, holds me tight. I try to look up, my vision tracing a steady line of air bubbles from my mouth. I consider having fallen through a Mirror Lake of sorts, a dark graveyard of war beneath it, and am now drawing closer as I drown in silver.

The light is so distant…

I’ve never fallen in before. I don’t know if I’m sinking or rising. Against my will, my body seizes up, my muscles lock together. My mind starts grabbing at memories I wanted to desperately forget, maybe reminding me of the haunting sides of the forest. Haruka. My sister. The first time I had run away, seven or eight months ago, after hearing about blizzards being practiced. If today I had listened to her… 

She would’ve merely thrown me against the ground and stuck my head underwater. I could writhe and thrash, and she’d let me, allowing only half a gasp of oxygen before falling back under. Pasts would repeat. I remember crying so thickly it would be clear in a rainstorm. Would that be what happens when I return to land? As an aggravated price, placed forth by my savior, I’ll be forced to drown again and again. I’ll never get the water out of my lungs. I know I’d deserve it.

Something fastens itself onto me, and I find a variety of things happen; first, my shoes get kicked off, although I’m light enough as is - second, warmth envelops me and I find oxygen, though minimal, has magically returned to me. I can sort of breathe. Third, warmth runs through my limbs, bringing pain across my body, but somehow giving me strength. I try to kick, now fully aware that light is closer. I’m not going to die here; at least, not alone.

I’m semi-conscious by the time my head breaks from the water; everything’s screwed over. I’m tremulous, anxious, quavering. I can’t see anything, my stomach’s done a triple back flip, and I have the urge to push away from the person clutching onto me. There’s someone else, distantly, maybe at the shore, shouting in a mix of garbled, gibberish words, a language either English or not. I can’t understand regardless.

I don’t have any strength. The adrenaline once coursing through my body, forcing me to finally move, has faded instantly. Because of this annoying obstacle, I slip, the powerful hands of the lake yanking me underneath into the endless darkness. Something else contests the water, though, and pulls me back up, tighter than ever. I heave and gasp. Drowning… It doesn’t seem that nice. Death might not be something I want, after all.

“Stay with me, just a tad bit longer,” A voice drawls into my ear, barely comprehensible. “Please.” It’s breathless, heaving hard, a thousand times more tired than I am, yet somehow pushing forwards. On top of this, it’s quiet, shallow, hopeful; all kinds of emotions gently stir through it, just like I’m mixing batter. “Just a little more.”

I find I’m drifting, or moving. I’m somehow wary, through near blindness, that someone’s pushing against ice, trying to find a strong part. Shouting ensues. Everything’s so cold and numbed that it hurts; I feel time tearing against me, as though it stuck to my skin like ice and someone tore it off with the strength of three hundred pounds. There’s more shouting, sharp cries, a master archer firing arrows. They barely miss my head, arcs and trajectories searing through the sky, sounds high-pitched then low, until one finally finds its target: right between my eyes.

Despite me fighting to keep my eyes open, I fall out of consciousness faster than a peregrine falcon diving. 

I don’t really know what’s happened, nor what’s currently happening. I gain slight control of my senses, my sight restoring, as though someone yanked my eyes out and I put them back in their spots. I’m huddled in a thick blanket, and though I’m _ much _ drier, I’m still cold. Water must’ve been extracted from my lungs, because there’s no other way I can breathe this easily. I raise my heavy head for once, wondering if it’ll snap off and roll across the ground, and see a figure the clearest I have today.

A sopping wet person looks back at me, around my age, smiling a faint smile, shivering and shaking. He doesn’t look as tough and powerful as before, but still strong and not to be messed with. I want to ask him why, maybe even scream; why he’d save someone as worthless as me, or even think to in the first place. Two fingers are instead pressed against my lips, hushing me, telling me to conserve my energy. They’re strangely warm. I realize I’m finally letting myself properly breathe for the first time in years, no longer fighting with anxiety. I like this feeling.

I realize my body’s shuddering, and the nearby breeze reminds me of the water against my face, leaving me to wonder if I’m subconsciously crying.

“Don’t worry, I’m not sure why they started attacking the branch, either - in fact, I don’t understand a word they’re saying. I just reacted with you. By the way, kid, what’s your name?” His shadow shifts and changes like my strangled emotions, flashing threatening glares. 

I don’t know. For a horrifying moment, I actually don’t know. I stare at him for a reason I don’t understand, trying to control everything running through my guts. He has a slightly glazed look to his eyes, as though trying to piece together information as well as absorb new words. I feel myself quivering, trying to conjure up my voice; just as always, I can’t cast spells. 

I can’t bring myself to admit the truth, to tell him I’m just a sleep-deprived imbecile that slipped off.

I shake my head and look down, burying my face into my legs, covering myself with my blanket. Maybe if I try really hard, I’ll become invisible and he’ll go away. He’ll take my conflicting thoughts away, he’ll answer my unsaid question of “Why am I this pathetic?” I hiccup. It hurts.

  
“That’s alright. You don’ need to talk. Sorry about dragging you down when I came after you - I just assumed there was something I didn’t want to be with, and after you fell, I kinda just dove after you.”

This other person is breathing hard. He exhales with a thin, wispy cloud of white. I can’t imagine how cold his body could be - or how he must feel. I stay huddled in my little cover, cowering and crying, my hiccups refusing to leave. It’s even colder underneath here. I wonder if I’m going to be dragged back into the lake and tossed inside, the surface frozen over above my head, and be left to die. 

Then, a hand brushes over my cover. The being’s fingers are radiating warmth. He brushes them against my forehead, clearing away my horribly messed up hair, and takes a seat next to me. I notice he doesn’t have a blanket, and for some reason, expect him to take mine away and beat me to hell.

My body tenses up, prepared for the pain. Except, it doesn’t come. Instead, his right hand holds my own, radiating warmth, and sends a surge through my blood. I feel the ice under my skin turn from the solid state back to liquid. I forget about the cold pain. It’s a wonderful blessing, even if for a few moments, just enough to return my heartbeat to my normal pace. 

“Next time, tiny kid, you’ve gotta be a little safer, a’ite?  _ No _ climbing up tall trees near huge, almost-frozen lakes, especially if you don’t got any energy to fight against anything. Actually, no, wait - I take it back. No climbing up tall trees in general. You don’t look like the kinda guy who can get down.” He has a joking tone, playful and cheerful, but I know it’s strict and serious. An order meant to be taken and remembered, embedded into my skull. 

I finally manage to speak, albeit rasped, sorry-excuses of syllables. “T-Thank you… How… How can I ever repay you?” My voice is hoarse and broken. Even so, hopefully they’re heard. There isn’t any gold or currency to my name, so I’m silently hoping he won’t ask for any compensation of the sort. 

The other figure doesn’t. Instead, he frowns for a bit, exaggerating the emotion. I resist a laugh.

“I saved your life, didn’t I?” He muses.

“I think you also tried to kill me,” I attempt futilely at a joke. It sorta works - we both get a small laugh out of it, I’m glad he didn’t decide it an insult, now grinning with his yellow teeth. I withdraw from the joy rather quickly, coughing again. His free hand presses against my chest - I haven’t realized how shallow, ragged, and altogether broken my voice is until then.

“Well then, we can just call it even.” He stands up, my hold slipping through his. He wipes any emotion from his face and holds it with fingers spread out and palm facing up. I take it. I end up keeping a shaky stance, about to collapse. It’s difficult to maintain balance. “By the way, my name’s Damien, but I’d rather you call me Nicholas.”

“Damien,” I manage out. “That sounds an awful lot like ‘Daemon’.” I instantly regret my words, hating myself. Why did I make that connection, and why is it my brain’s still numb? I haven’t been thinking about anything I’ve been saying. 

“Hence why I rather be called ‘Nick’ or ‘Nicholas’,” Damien retorts, laughing it off. He’s still grinning, running a towel through his spiked-black hair. I don’t know how I missed the fact his hair was an utter mess through all of that commotion. Maybe it’s because now, it’s no longer tied up with leaves and forestry. “It’s a bit of a bad first impression, telling people you’re named after a demon, ain’t it?” 

Damien feels far too surreal. I get bad vibes from him, like a chilly, winter’s breeze. He’s not filled with rage, and it doesn’t seem like he’s considering physical violence, scanning me only to see how injured I am. The mention of demons, however, makes that shadowy monster that’s been following us around become noticeable. It stares at me, through me, burning into my soul with its bleeding-white eyes, and  _ grins _ . A semi-circle appears, and from it, jagged, uneven teeth, dripping with white. 

I blink. It’s gone. The demon’s now just staring at me, analyzing me just as Damien had. I feel as though its brother is crawling around my neck and shiver at the claws tearing through my flimsy mortal flesh. 

It clicks that I’m in another part of the forest. It’s far closer to the palace than the lake - maybe a few minutes’ walk. I wouldn’t have had to run until my lungs burned and my legs physically gave out. Did Damien take me here? It’s possible he could’ve carried me through the river and dropped me off to dry. He reads my face and answers my unspoken question.

“I returned to that palace nearby - your home, I assume? I struggled to properly communicate with the people - they all spoke differently, whether with peasant or noble accents. I couldn’t really do much, either, but eventually, your servants assumed I wanted towels and stuff.” He lets out a heart-warming chuckle. “Damn, that was way too hard.”

_ My _ servants. Did Damien know? How? I can’t control my shaking. I only have a small handful of questions I really want answered. 

“Y’know,” He adds in a hasty voice, “I don’t know what you don’t tell me. I can assume and put together, but I won’t really know.”

I attempt to lock a gaze with him; I can barely bring my eyes above his clavicle. Sickening, nauseating feelings twist back and forth in my stomach in a game of tug-of-war. 

“I never really  _ did _ catch your name.”

“Nyx,” I croak. It’s rough, getting the word out, knowing the curse tied to it. There was only one person around here with my name, as far as me and my siblings new. Since my birth, it was rumored my name itself hacked at my life, tearing it apart like the hem to my shirt. In fact, it was the whole reason why my mother nor father properly named me. They called me only what I called myself. 

“My name’s Nyx.” It hurts to think about my last name, if I even still have it. I haven’t decided if I wanted my own separate one, since I wouldn’t need it. The royal heritage would likely go to a slave before me. 

“Nyx, huh? That’s a nice name, kid.”

Kid. It ticks me off slightly to be called “kid”. I’ve been called much, much worse - how can someone be so casual with me, so friendly, affable, after knowing my name? Besides, Damien can’t be older than me. He doesn’t look like it.

Looks are annoyingly deceiving. Damien may not look older than me, but he might have spent four times as many years on this earth. His aura of magic, I’m now realizing, is divine, celestial. It emits incredible energy as consistently as his pulse. It’s even  _ stifled _ . I feel it, like a tiny voice riding the wind; there’s so much more Damien could be doing. So much more he deserves. 

I curl up against his side, resting my head against his arm. There’s no protesting or shouting. 

It’s a very selfish and horrendous thought, one that could land me in the infirmary for a few days if spoken aloud, but I wonder if Damien would be my friend. Not just someone who exists nearby, or even a servant of sorts, as he already seems - a close friend, one that won’t hurt me. One that won’t use me. 

Even if he should be close to authoritative figures much more… rectitude, more decency, than I could ever put up, I’d like him to be my ally at the least. 

Damien shifts. He nudges me, gesturing to a part of the forest where liquid gold overflowed leaves, pouring against the soil. I think he’d rather be over there, basking and bathing in sunlight, than this shadowed area. 

I follow his lead.

My thoughts momentarily clear. It’s as if Damien can read my mind, hear my thoughts, see my memories, and can act accordingly. I don’t think he’s spent much time with actual humans in general, judging by his struggles with others, but learned to cooperate and decipher. 

I hear a noise. It’s faint, mumbling, and twist my head in its direction. There’s a chaotic storm, shredding and shearing through most everything in its path, existing for only a few moments. It’s beautiful - a spilled mess of rainbow glitter, or the sunlight catching on tiny, near-still waves on the ocean. It would be even prettier on the inside.

It brings me back to the present. I remember there’s something I wanted to say.

“Thanks. I chose it myself.” 


End file.
